


cocked the shotgun and everything

by ErRose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Angst, Child Abuse, Drunk John Winchester, Protective Bobby Singer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28806831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErRose/pseuds/ErRose
Summary: The last time Sam and Dean see Bobby Singer until they go to him for help in Devil's trap.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	cocked the shotgun and everything

**Author's Note:**

> “Tell you the truth, I wasn’t sure if we should come”  
> “Nonesense. Your daddy needs help”  
> “Yeah, but last time we saw ya, you did threaten to blast him fulla buckshot. Cocked the shotgun and everything”  
> “Yeah well what can I say? John just has that effect on people”

Dean glanced in the side mirror. When he positioned himself just right, he could see into the backseat at a brooding Sam. His arms folded across his chest and his forehead leaning against the window, Sam let out a heavy sigh.  
  
They had long ago realized that they could tap out Morse code on the leather seats quiet enough that John couldn’t hear. _U ok_ Dean scratched into the seat. Sam just scoffed and rolled his eyes. He was mad at Dean- he had every right to be. John had used him as bait for a coven of witches, and though Dean tried to fight it, tried to volunteer himself, their father couldn’t be swayed, so Dean backed down.  
  
John’s driving was too aggressive; he took turns too sharply and drove too fast for even Dean to find exciting- a clear signal that he was mad too. When the coven closed in on Sam, Dean yelled to him to look out, giving away the element of surprise. But he couldn’t help it- protecting Sam was his deepest instinct, and his father had instilled it into him, for better or worse.  
  
The only two people in the whole world who he cared about were both mad at him and he couldn’t even blame them. He risked Sam’s life and ruined the hunt all at once. So instead, he turned his rage inward. He should have fought harder, he should have kept his mouth shut. The two thoughts contradicted each other, but he couldn’t help feeling that there was something he missed, some way to have protected his brother and made his dad proud at the same time.  
  
“Where are we even going?” Sam huffed from the backseat and Dean cringed. The fights between Sam and John had only been getting more intense- John slamming beer bottles to the floor, shattering around their feet and throwing things at the wall. More than once Dean had stepped in front of Sam, desperate to deescalate the situation before things got worse. No matter how many times he tried to shove Dean out of the way, Dean always stood his ground in front of Sam.  
  
John didn’t bother answering, instead electing slam even harder on the gas, accelerating to 90mph around a school bus. Dean checked his surroundings. He recognized these roads. Careful not to be too loud, Dean scratched out the Morse code for _Bobby._  
  
They pulled into the junkyard and Dean relaxed. There was something about Bobby’s house that made Dean feel a little safer, a little more at ease. He looked out at the parking lot graveyard and thought about asking Bobby if he could try to fix one up. He’d have to wait until his dad wasn’t around, though. Bobby wouldn’t mind, but John would be furious he even asked. He knew nothing could even come close to the impala, but he’d like to use his hands to make and mend for once rather than kill and destroy. He dreamed of what it would be like to build his own car from the bottom up with Bobby’s help and maybe even take Sam and go off on their own. Soon he’d be old enough to actually pass as the age on his fake IDs and he could let Sam live a normal life, even if Dean never could.  
  
Sam climbed out of the impala, but didn’t follow them inside. Instead he sat on the hood of a rusted out Cadillac and pulled a math workbook out of his backpack. Dean walked past him and didn’t say anything, but ruffled his hair and playfully shoved his shoulder. Sam laughed lightly and swatted his hand away- in their secret, unspoken language, this was Dean apologizing, and Sam forgiving him, even if Dean didn’t forgive himself.  
  
With his hands stuffed into his pockets, he trailed behind John and they let themselves into Bobby’s house. Bobby made a sarcastic remark from the living room, but invited them inside. He gave John a beer and Dean a Pepsi- when Dean rolled his eyes, Bobby’s glare dared him to ask for something stronger. John let him drink beer, but Bobby steadfastly refused to give him booze until he was at least sixteen.  
  
They started to catch up and swap stories. John drank Bobby’s beers and took nips from his own flask every so often, but Bobby always nursed his beers when John came over while angry. John was a mean drunk and it helped to be sober when he started getting that glassy look in his eye.  
  
When John started telling the story of the blown witch hunt, Dean stood to get another can of soda from the fridge, desperate to not be in the room while his father told the story of what a colossal fuck up Dean was.  
  
“Would you grab me another one while you’re in there, kid?” Bobby asked, shaking his empty bottle. Dean took the bottle from his hand and set it on the kitchen counter with the others. He took a minute to move them all to the trash and wipe a small spill next to the sink. When enough time had passed that he hoped the story would be finished, he pulled a soda and a beer from the fridge and headed back to the living room.  
  
On his way back in, Dean tripped over an upturned corner of the rug. Just as John was telling Bobby that he had nearly ruined the hunt, the bottle flew from Dean’s hand and crashed to the floor, shattered glass and spilled beer settling into the carpet.  
  
“God _dammit_ , Dean.” John rose to his feet and loomed over him.  
  
“I’m sorry, sir, I-”  
  
“Don’t apologize to me,” he shoved Dean’s shoulder to make him face Bobby, who looked horrified at what he was watching. He seemed almost frozen by fear, seeming to see something else, something that was not in front of him, but playing in his own mind.  
  
“Bobby, I just didn’t see-”  
  
“I didn’t ask for a fucking excuse.” He shoved Dean again, harder this time, “And pick up your mess while you’re at it,”  
  
“Jesus, John.” Bobby shook himself back into the moment. “Give the kid a break. He’s barely fifteen years old. ’Sides you think I’ve never spilled a beer in here?”  
  
“Fifteen is plenty old enough to take responsibility and follow a fucking order,”  
  
“You’re drunk. Lay off him,”  
  
“Don’t you tell me how to raise my boys,”  
  
With a small handful of the glass shards in his hand, Dean tried to apologize to them both. Of course it was his fault- he didn’t know why Bobby was even bothering to defend him. John turned to Dean, fury etched into every line of his face.  
  
The punch came out of nowhere. John had smacked him around a few times, but only when he really deserved it- usually disobeying an order, or telling him to lay off of Sam- he could usually see it coming and brace himself. But this knocked him off his feet and sent him sprawling into a stack of books on the floor. He could feel the pages fold and tear under his back, and the shards of glass in his hand dig their way into the meat of his palm. Stars floated in front of his eyes, his ears produced a high pitched whining, and he couldn’t seem to bring the room into focus. John came toward him, but Dean couldn’t tell if it was with an apology for losing his temper, or if he was closing in for round two.  
  
The world still spun around him so he couldn’t be sure, but it seemed as though Bobby shoved John off his path before landing a punch of his own across John’s jaw.  
  
Dean tried to shake the stars out of his vision, but he was sure he heard a crash and several more blows landing before he could make sense of his surroundings. His father, slumped against the wall. Bobby, knuckles bloody, somehow already kneeling next to Dean, prodding the most sensitive part of his face with calloused fingers.  
  
“You alright, kid?” He cleaned the blood off his face while Dean nodded, trying not to wince.  
  
He felt almost safe with Bobby taking gentle care of his minor wounds until he heard the labored breathing and heavy footsteps that filled him with dread. Dread that had yet to be matched by ghosts, werewolves, and shapeshifters combined. He could fight back against those monsters. But this monster that he called Dad couldn’t be defeated, he couldn’t let that monster be let loose on Sam.  
  
Before Dean could brace himself for another round, Bobby stood with speed and agility that Dean had never seen from him. Before Dean could even blink, he was standing, facing John with shotgun in hand. He hadn’t aimed yet, but he kept it at the ready.  
  
Dean stood on shaky legs, eyes bouncing back and forth between his father, and the only man who ever gave him comfort.  
  
“Dean, why don’t you go get Sam and come back inside.” Bobby’s hand on his shoulder was steadying while his head swam. “They can stay here until you get your shit straight,”  
  
John took a step toward them, and Bobby took aim. Another step. The shotgun cocked. Bobby raised his eyebrows daring him to take another step.  
  
“Bobby, I-” Dean looked at the murderous look in John’s eyes. For a split second, he could almost see it happening. See his father try to kill Bobby, just because he was drunk and angry. Dean’s words caught in his throat. They rose like bile. He didn’t want to say them but he knew that he had to. “I can’t stay,” he whispered. More than anything, that was what he wanted. To throw a baseball around, to fix up a car, to live in one place for more than a month at a time. But his father would never allow that- he really would kill Bobby eventually if Dean decided to stay. So he gritted his teeth and took a step past Bobby, away from the life he wanted.  
  
Bobby looked a little sad, but not surprised. In the end, he knew that Dean couldn’t do that to his family. “If you even think about laying a hand on those boys again, I’ll come after you and fill you so full of ammo you’ll bleed lead at your autopsy. And unless you want a belly full of buckshot you’ll never come around here again.”  
  
After a tense hesitation where he almost seemed to consider charging the man with a gun pointed at his chest, John spat, “Fuck you,” and kicked over another stack of books.  
  
When John turned toward the door, Bobby dropped the barrel of the gun and put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. His words came out rushed, wanting to get them all out before Dean left. “You and Sammy are always welcome back here. For anything. Whether it’s just for a quick lunch or help on a hunt or if you need somewhere to stay, my door is always open to you boys. And if you ever need me to come get you, I’m one phone call away. I’ll come get you from anywhere,” Dean nodded, knowing that if he tried to speak, his voice would crack under the strain of trying not to mourn the life he could have lived here. “And take care of that hand first chance you get,”  
  
“Thanks, Bobby,” Dean said as he tried to catch up to John, not wanting to keep him waiting.  
  
His ears were still ringing from the punch, so he couldn’t be sure, but he would have sworn he heard Bobby mutter, “That sonofabitch was lucky it wasn’t actually loaded or I woulda pulled the damn trigger,”  
  
“Woah, what happened?” Sam asked when Dean walked past him.  
  
“Nothing. Get in the car,”  
  
“Did Bobby hit you?”  
  
“No, Bobby didn’t- I said nothing happened. Don’t worry about it. Just get in the car,”  
  
“But Dean-”  
  
“Sammy, I’m serious. Don’t talk about it anymore.” Sam must have caught something in Dean’s harsh tone and John’s heavy steps, because he shut right up and climbed into the back seat.  
  
John drove too fast again, and Dean looked into the mirror at Sam and saw that Sam was looking back at him. _U ok_ Sam scratched into the upholstery.  
  
_Yes_ was all Dean was willing to risk.  
  
In the bathroom of the next motel they stopped at, Dean pulled the glass from his palm by himself and allowed himself the comfort of imagining Bobby taking care of him. Using tweezers to dig the glass out, pouring rubbing alcohol over the cuts, bandaging him up. He looked in the mirror and prodded his fingers into the bruising that was starting to bloom around his eye. For a moment, he considered calling Bobby from the payphone outside- asking him to come get him and Sammy. But after what happened, Dean was sure Bobby never wanted to see him again. His final words to him were nothing more than a courtesy he never meant to be fulfilled. So Dean curled himself into bed and imagined again the life he could have had if he stayed with Bobby, and allowed a few tears to fall onto his pillow.

**Author's Note:**

> I really struggled with this, and i'm not thrilled with how it came out but oh well


End file.
